“All right,” she finally conceded. She placed the check carefully inside her purse, intending to guard it with her very life until it could be safely deposited. Lifting her head, she gazed earnestly at Marcus. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your tremendous generosity, as will everyone else who benefits from it.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said.
“But I want you to promise me that you’ll allow me to provide my services to your firm. Absolutely anything you can think of, I mean it.”
“That really won’t be—”
“At least keep it under consideration. Will you promise me that?”
Marcus chuckled, torn between amusement and exasperation. “All right, I promise.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” She began gathering her brochures, returning them to the attaché case as Marcus handled the bill.
“Marcus?”
“Hmm?”
Her expression was sheepish. “Could I have my calculator back?”
“Nah,” he said lazily. “I think I’ll keep it as collateral.”
1
Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he’d so thoroughly enjoyed a woman’s company. Even after the bill was settled and their table had been cleared, he and Samara lingered at the restaurant for another hour, talking about anything and everything. Just as their mutual friend Walter Floyd had predicted, they had a lot in common and shared many of the same interests. Marcus couldn’t get enough of her, with her throaty laughter, smoky eyes, sexy mouth and luscious body.
He didn’t want the night to end. And judging by the looks Samara was giving him on the ride back to the Yorkin Institute, she didn’t either.
All too soon they reached their destination, where Samara’s burgundy Toyota Avalon sat alone in the parking lot. Marcus pulled up alongside the car and killed the ignition.
Their eyes met and held in the shadowy darkness.
“Marcus…”
“Samara…”
When they spoke at the same time, he chuckled quietly. “Ladies first.”
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” Samara said softly.
“Me, too.”
“I’m sure those waiters were beginning to wonder if we’d have to be forcibly removed from the restaurant.”
“Yeah. I think I saw a couple of cops circling the building at one point. I didn’t know if they were there to get us, or the leftover pastries.”
Samara laughed, making his pulse leap. Damn, she had a sexy laugh.
Moments later they were still chuckling quietly, calmly, the joke just an excuse for their eyes to linger over each other.
“Will you be available to take a photo sometime this week?” Samara asked. “Nothing elaborate, just a simple photo of us shaking hands somewhere. Our community relations director will want to include an article about your generous donation in the next issue of our monthly newsletter. So, will you be available this week?”
“Actually, Samara, I hadn’t really planned on publicizing the donation. Where it came from isn’t really important, is it?”
She frowned. “Well…no. But I really like to give credit where credit is due. Besides, we always include articles in the newsletter about substantial donations we receive. Our contributors appreciate the recognition.”
“I don’t need recognition,” Marcus said gently. “When I give, it’s for something I really believe in. As long as you put that money to good use, that’s all I care about.” When her frown persisted, he sighed, realizing that he’d unintentionally offended her. “Tell you what. Let me think about it some more. If I change my mind, I’ll give you a call. How does that sound?”
She gave him one of those smiles that took his breath away, the kind of smile that would make a man do anything. “All right, Marcus. I’ll respect your wishes, whatever you decide.” She glanced at the clock mounted on the dashboard and shook her head. “I can’t believe how late it is. I don’t think I’ve ever spent four hours at a restaurant.”
“Was it that long? See, I hardly even noticed.”
“Neither did I. Time flies when you’re having fun.” Their gazes locked for a moment, then Samara reached for the door handle. “Good night, Marcus.”
“Wait. I’ll walk you to your car.”
She laughed, because he had parked right beside the Avalon. But she played along and stayed put as he climbed out and walked around to open the door for her. As she accepted his hand and stepped from the vehicle, he admired her long, curvy legs accentuated by a pair of strappy stiletto heels. Remembering those long legs wrapped around his waist made him spring an erection faster than he could complete the next thought.
As Samara emerged from the car, he gave her hand a little tug, enough to throw her off balance. And then he caught her in his arms as she fell against him, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Hey, you did that on—”
Marcus cupped her face between his hands, turned it up and captured her mouth with his. Instead of protesting, she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, kissing him back so hungrily his head swam. He traced the silken contours of her lips with his tongue, coaxing them to part, and when they did, he drove into the sweet warmth of her mouth like a starving man. He tried not to devour her, to take his time and savor her, but he’d already learned that when it came to kissing Samara, patience was a virtue he didn’t possess.
Forcing himself to slow down, he dragged his lips from hers and brushed a kiss along her cheekbone. Samara turned her head, blindly seeking his mouth, but he pulled back from her. He rubbed his thumb over her lush bottom lip, trying to resist the silent allure in her dark, sultry eyes. When she opened her mouth and gently suckled his thumb, raw need tore through him. With a ragged groan, he pinned her against the side of the car and wedged his knee between her legs, lifting her slightly off the ground. She moaned and threw her head back against the roof of the car. Like a heat-seeking missile, he homed in on her arched throat, suckling her so hard he knew he’d leave a mark.
Their heads slanted this way and that as they kissed more urgently, their tongues mating frantically as their groping bodies tried to merge into one. They were so absorbed in each other that it took several minutes before they realized it had started raining.
Slowly they opened their eyes and drew apart. In unison they stared up at the falling rain, then at each other.
“It finally came,” Samara murmured breathlessly. He must have given her a strange look, because she clarified, “It’s been cloudy all day. It finally rained.”
“Yeah.” Marcus wanted her so badly he ached, but he also needed the decision to come from her. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel obligated to sleep with him just because he’d donated money to the Institute.
“I guess we’d better head for cover before we get soaked,” she joked as the rain began to fall harder.
The only kind of soaking Marcus cared about was getting soaked between the sheets with Samara, whose nipples were now protruding from her pale silk blouse.
His mouth watered like the skies above them. “Have a good night, Samara,” he said thickly.
“You, too, Marcus.”
He waited until she’d climbed inside her car before walking back to his own. Removing his wet suit jacket, he tossed it carelessly across the leather seat and slid behind the wheel of his climatecontrolled vehicle. Too bad the engineers who’d built his Bentley hadn’t come up with the technology to cool a man’s raging libido, he thought darkly.
Turning his head, he watched through the passenger window as Samara leaned her head back and smoothed her wet hair off her face. Looking at her, he felt like a horny teenager who’d stumbled upon a peephole leading into the girls’ locker room.
Samara started her car and backed out of the space, pausing to smile and wave at him. Marcus nodded back at her, then sat and watched as she drove out of the parking lot.
It was only when he glanced down at the floor that he saw she’d forgotten
her attaché case. He threw the car into drive and started after her, then stopped.
His mouth curved in a slow, satisfied smile.
All the signs were there. He and Samara Layton were meant to be together. And the sooner, the better.
Because if he didn’t have her soon, he was going to lose his damn mind.
Chapter Six
Samara had barely entered the building the next morning when she was approached by Melissa. She grabbed Samara’s arm and hustled her up the stairs to her own office, closing the
door behind them. Removing a stack of spreadsheets from the visitor’s chair opposite her desk, she gestured Samara into the seat before planting herself directly in front of her. “Well?” she demanded, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “How’d it go last night?”
“Good morning to you, too, Melissa,” Samara said dryly. “I’ve been waiting for you over half an hour! You’re in later than usual this morning.”
Samara checked her watch and arched a skeptical brow. “It’s only seven-thirty. I always come in around this time.”
“Yesterday you were here at seven,” Melissa pointed out. Her bronze-painted lips spread in a wicked grin. “Did you and Mr. Wolf have a late night, by any chance?”
“For your information, I was home before midnight.” Just barely.
“Come on, girl. Give up the goods. How’d the meeting go?”
“It went very well. We had an opportunity to discuss many topics, including the matter for which we were meeting in the first place. Marcus was very impressed with the programs we currently have and the programs we could offer, if we had proper funding. In fact, he was so impressed that he agreed to help us out of our financial bind.”
Melissa grew very still. “How much ‘help’ are we talking about?”
“Well…” Samara prolonged the announcement, relishing every moment of it. “Let’s just say it was more than I expected. Far more, in fact.”
“Spill it, woman!”
Maureen SmithSamara reached inside her purse and withdrew the deposit slip, waving it triumphantly under Melissa’s nose. “Try this on for size.”
Melissa snatched the bank receipt out of her hand and stared at it, her eyes widening almost to the point of hysteria. “Oh my God! That’s well over—”
“I know! I was just as shocked as you are.”
“Do you know what this means?”
Samara laughed. “Do I know what it means? Girl, I could hardly sleep a wink last night, I was so excited. We’re back in business, Melissa!”
With a squeal, Melissa grabbed her out of the chair and hugged her, then they jumped up and down like giddy teenagers at a sleepover—something Samara had never gotten to enjoy when she was growing up.
“Thank God for Marcus Wolf!” Melissa exclaimed when they’d finally settled down. “Didn’t I tell you that it was divine intervention that brought him back to Washington, D.C.?”
Samara grinned. “Yes, Melissa. You did.”
“And just think. If you two hadn’t met at the fashion show in New York, you never would’ve reached out to him for a donation.” She paused, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “In an ironic way, I guess we can thank your mother for making this possible.”
Samara didn’t want to thank Asha Dubois for a single thing, but she could see Melissa’s point. She also realized that if her mother hadn’t reneged on their deal, she wouldn’t have had a reason to seek out Marcus and get to know him better. And that would have been a damn shame.
“This calls for a celebration,” Melissa declared. “Let’s treat the staff to lunch this afternoon. They’ve worked tirelessly under these trying circumstances. I think they’ve earned a free meal, don’t you?”
Samara gave her friend a surprised look. Melissa Matthews was notoriously frugal, and had been long before the Institute fell into financial trouble. As their accountant, it was her duty to cut corners
67wherever possible, and she took the responsibility seriously—almost to an extreme.
“Why, Melissa, that’s awfully generous of you,” Samara teased.
Melissa snorted. “Don’t get too happy. I’m only ordering pizza. Speaking of food, where did you and Marcus…” she trailed off. Her eyes suddenly fastened on Samara’s neck. “Oh my God. Is that what I think it is? Is that a hickey?”
Samara’s hand shot to her throat. The silk scarf she’d worn that morning to conceal the incriminating mark had slipped off while she and Melissa were jumping up and down.
Oh, great. Now I’ve got some ’splainin to do.
Melissa was gaping at her, open mouth and all. “What exactly happened between you two last night?”
An embarrassed flush heated Samara’s face. “Do we have to discuss this right now? I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee yet, and I’ve got a ton of phone calls to make and letters to draft.”
“Details,” Melissa commanded, pushing her back down in the chair. “I want details.”
Samara chuckled, shaking her head in resignation. “First off, I should have told you yesterday that I went to see Marcus when he spoke at Georgetown on Monday night.”
“You were there?”
“Yes. And your law professor friend was right. Marcus was wonderful. He had everyone hanging onto his every word— including me. You know, after you and I talked on Monday, I got to thinking about what you’d said about him being an untapped resource and all that. So I went to the university to speak to him about giving FYI a donation. But after the way I’d dissed him in New York, I knew I’d have to be somewhat, uh, creative in my approach.”
Melissa grinned slowly. “How creative?”
“Creative enough to hold his attention. I flirted with him, we chatted a little. One thing led to another and…”
“And?”
“We wound up in an empty classroom making out.” “Stop playing! You didn’t!”
“I did.” Samara grinned unabashedly. “Enjoyed every second of it, too.”
Melissa laughed. “I’ll bet. That man looks like he would be quite enjoyable. Lord, he is scrumptious! Was he mad when he found out you wanted money from him?”
Samara frowned, feeling a pang of guilt. “Maybe a little, but it didn’t last very long. He was pretty mature and forgiving about the whole thing.”
“Obviously. He wrote you a nice fat check. That must have been one helluva kiss you gave him—and vice versa,” she added, with a pointed look at the hickey on Samara’s throat. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as Samara bent to retrieve her scarf from the floor. “Are you going to see him again?”
“I hope so,” Samara answered without hesitation. At Melissa’s knowing look, she smiled shyly. “We had a really great time last night. We talked for hours, and we had so much in common it was scary. And you know what else? It was the first time I’d ever been with a man who didn’t ask me what it was like to be Asha Dubois’s daughter, a man who wasn’t remotely interested in hearing about my mother’s sexual exploits. It was such a refreshing change, Melissa. I felt like we really connected. It was the best non-date I’ve ever had.”
“Sounds like it was,” Melissa said with a soft, intuitive smile. “Sounds to me like the Marcus Wolf Fan Club just gained a devoted new member.”
Samara laughed, rising from the chair and walking to the door. “The man rescued us from bankruptcy. I’m not only a member of his fan club—I’m the new president!”
1
That afternoon, Marcus had just hung up the phone with a prospective client when the intercom on his desk buzzed. “Mr. Wolf, you have a call,” the receptionist informed him. “It’s your father.”
Smiling, Marcus picked up the phone. “How are you doing, Dad?”
“Same as I was two days ago,” came Sterling Wolf’s gruff reply. “Restless from rattling around in this big ol’ house you and your brother insist on keeping me trapped in.”
“You’re not trapped,” Marcus said patiently. He was used to his father’s complaints. “You have a more a
ctive social life than most men your age. You belong to the senior basketball league; you have your weekly poker group—”
“What you’ve just described sounds awfully similar to the activities of an inmate at one of those retirement homes.”
Marcus laughed. “Hey, don’t forget your upcoming fishing trip with the fellas.”
“Well…that’s different,” his father conceded, an unmistakable note of pleasure creeping into his voice. After years of resenting the forced move to Stone Mountain, Sterling Wolf had been pleased to find a group of retired police officers with whom he could commiserate over the current state of law enforcement.
“Taking your meds okay?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah, so don’t you start with me.”
Marcus grinned at his father’s irascible tone. “Do what the doctor tells you and I won’t have to.”
After thirty years on the force, the toll of sleepless nights, stress and poor eating habits had resulted in Sterling Wolf developing high blood pressure and suffering a mild heart attack. His physician had not only ordered him to retire, but had recommended a complete change of scenery. After ranting and raving for weeks, Sterling eventually consented to selling the family home and relocating to the less congested, more peaceful confines of Stone Mountain. In less than a year, his health had dramatically improved, confirming the wisdom of the move—although Sterling would sooner walk through fire than admit it.
“When do you think you’ll be heading back this way?” he asked.
“Actually, I might fly down this weekend. My senior associates in Atlanta have been hinting that there may be trouble in the waters regarding one of our pending class-action lawsuits.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Some disagreement between the parties, minor discrepancies in their deposition statements.”
Taming the Wolf Page 7
